Our morning porch-gasm was interrupted. Not by a miserable jilted (lover?) or a random robocall, but by a downpour, which meant the dog and I had to move swiftly to let her squeeze out before we were both sopping wet. Still, the pitter-patter and rumblings are symphonic compared to cellular so-called "communication," which often seems more masturbatory than genuine. The pit didn't like getting wet, but loved it when I toweled her off. When was the last time you powered the mole off & just listened to the rain?
A Bird Calls Through the Rain